


the day the music died

by avecstylinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:38:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avecstylinson/pseuds/avecstylinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>wow</p>
    </blockquote>





	the day the music died

**Author's Note:**

> wow

Harry and Louis were the best of friends. They did everything together, for as long as they could both remember. They were each other’s muses, best friends,lovers, boyfriends, everything. There were days when Harry would conveniently “forget” to get dressed and lay himself on the couch while Louis tried ,usually to no avail, to focus on his piano work. And Louis would return the favor when Harry tried to lock himself up in the kitchen and try a new recipe. It was a delicate balance, but one they loved. Slowly but surely, Louis’ songs consisted of Harry and Harry’s dishes were exactly what Louis liked.   
“What do you want for dinner, bear?” Harry screamed one dreary Sunday.  
“You,” Louis replied, nuzzling his face into the crook of Harry’s neck.  
Louis liked to sneak up on Harry because his voice sounded nice when he yelled something and Louis liked to appreciate it up close. Harry found this extremely endearing and continued to yell for Louis throughout their shared flat.   
“I can’t cook myself, Lou,” Harry replied.  
“Mac and cheese?”   
“Seriously?”  
“Yes, and you can feed it to me.”  
“You’re insufferable.”  
“But you love me.”  
“But I love you.”  
Harry turned around and kissed Louis because that’s just what they did.  
If anyone asked when their relationship started they would just shrug because it just seemed like it had always been there, it was as natural as breathing and as easy as pie.   
So Harry dutifully made the mac and cheese, adding extra bread crumbs on top because he knew that Louis loved them while Louis played their old piano for a bit. Suddenly, there was a thud from the kitchen and the shattering of glass followed closely behind.   
“Harry?” Louis yelled.  
There was no reply. Louis was worried. He scuttled out to the kitchen and saw something he had hoped he never had to see. Harry was laying on the ground, a large gash in his head and the pan of uncooked macaroni shattered with all the pieces and ingredients strewed about the kitchen floor. He quickly dialed 999 and told them their address. His hands were shaking as he grabbed a towel and propped Harry’s head in his lap and pressed the towel to the gash. Harry’s breathing was shallow, but he was breathing. The EMTs arrived quickly and practically had to tear Harry out of Louis’ arms. The tears just kept screaming down Louis’ face as the workers carried Harry into the ambulance.  
“Sir, I’m sorry you’re going to have to ride in the front with me,” one of the EMTs said.  
“No, no, you don’t understand, I need to see him,” Louis replied desperately  
“Sir, the specialists need time to help him.”  
“They can help him while I’m there!”  
“Sir, sitting with your friend won’t help him.”  
“Please!”  
The man was obviously frustrated with Louis so he gave up and sat obediently in the front. The drive to hospital seemed too long and Louis often forgot to breath. When they arrived, the men rushed Harry inside and Louis sprinted after them. He was stopped by a few nurses and sank to the ground in tears, yelling Harry’s name over and over and over again.   
After an hour they finally let Louis see him. His hair was matted down with dried blood and there were tubes attached to his arms. The beeping of his heart rate monitor was slow and unsteady.  
“I’m very sorry sir,” a nurse said.  
No more words were exchanged. Louis grabbed Harry’s hand and kissed it. He petted his hair, smoothed the wrinkles in his shirt. The beeping stopped. Harry was peaceful. A single tear rolled down Louis, cheek and landed on the small L tattooed on the inside of his elbow, marring Harry’s flawless skin.   
Louis went home. Louis didn’t play the piano. Louis didn’t sing. Louis didn’t dance around in his underwear. Harry didn’t cook. Harry didn’t yell across the flat to him. Harry didn’t lay on the couch naked. Louis didn’t eat. Louis didn’t live.  
They were buried together. They were each other’s muses, best friends, lovers, boyfriends, everything.


End file.
